Mysterious Happenings at Malfoy Manor
by silentclock
Summary: In the investigation that will define his career, Auror Commander Harry Potter leads his team to the heart of evil and depravity. He will soon learn that much more than his job is on the line. Welcome to Malfoy Manor. AU.
1. Welcome to Malfoy Manor

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks to BarneyXII for Betaing this for me.

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Mysterious Happenings at Malfoy Manor

By silentclock

The house at the end of the lane had been grand, once. It had stood as testament to centuries of accumulated wealth, a temple to opulence and excess. The very pinnacle of Elizabethan architecture.

But that was years ago.

Now, it was little more than a crude imitation of what it had once been, a soulless replica. Near death. It likely hadn't been tended since the start of the Second War, when vanity had been overtaken by survival.

Ivy stretched up the walls, vines clinging to the masonry and covering the home in a coat of green, slowly ascending toward the many towers. The house was three stories of stone that had begun to crumble as the magic supporting it had faded. Even as the facade slowly fell back to the earth, it was imposing, resting at the top of a hill, towering over everything around it.

As Harry Potter led his team closer to the old manor, the path narrowed, the overgrown hedgerows to their sides drawing closer together. Harry stepped carefully on the walkway, avoiding places where the stone had cracked and sunk into the earth. The group walked single file behind him. The three directly to his back wore scarlet robes, like Harry's. A pair dressed in black trailed further back from the rest.

"All right you lot. Listen up." Harry paused, waving his wand, deftly vanishing the hedges where they knitted together and blocked the path. "I reckon this is a goose chase, but Minister Greengrass is pressing the Department for a thorough investigation."

"Shocker, that." Harry heard one of the men under his command snickering. He recognized the voice as Terry Boot's.

Harry looked forward, toward the house. The sun sat low in the sky, behind the house, casting its shadow across the Wiltshire countryside. Candles had only just begun flickering in the ground-floor windows, the remnants of spellwork cast quite some time ago, he figured.

He started again. "Greengrass's youngest daughter says there's more to this one than meets the eye, and he's inclined to believe her. They're just trying to save face, I suspect, but the Minister's involvement puts us in a delicate position."

"What do you want us to do, Top?" It was Boot's partner, Richard Harper.

Harry was silent for a moment as he gazed at the manor. He could imagine it as it had once been. He could see the glistening windows, the house lighting up the night as wizards in expensive robes walked this path, beautiful witches on their arms, making their way to the ballroom. He could taste the sweetness of their champagne on his lips, could envision the wealthy couples, twirling across the dance floor as the orchestra played. Harry strained his ears, as if listening for stray notes from long-forgotten tunes played by musicians long since dead. Beneath his heavy robes, goose bumps formed on his skin.

He looked up with a start, at the sound of flapping wings. He saw a crow, flying away from him and toward the house. His eyes followed its path against the backdrop of the manor. High above the oaken double-doors, sections of the roof came together at a sharp angle, one of the home's many gables. Far off to the sides, at the corners, he saw a pair of identical towers. Near the center of the complex was another tower, this one of red brick. It stood high above everything else, ending in a sharp point. He couldn't make out the design on the stained glass. It was a few hundred years newer than the rest of the house, he suspected.

"Officially," Harry said, "we're here to investigate a magical disturbance."

"Four Aurors and a pair of Unspeakables for a three-oh-four?" asked Boot. He laughed outright this time. "Not going for subtlety here, is he?"

"Shit!"

Harry turned in time to see one of the Unspeakables taking a quick step backward, his eyes locked on a third-story window. "What is it, Liggins?"

The man shook his head. "It's nothing. Just a trick of the light."

Harper barked out a laugh. "Merlin, Liggins, are ya an Unspeakable or a housewitch?"

The woman directly behind Harry, his partner, Lisa Turpin, sighed. "And unofficially, Harry, why are we really here?"

Harry continued forward, under a stone archway. He ducked, narrowly avoiding vines that dangled overhead. A gust of wind rustled his cloak, causing him to shiver as he approached the entryway.

"Unofficially…" Harry paused, looking back at his team. "We're looking for evidence to prove that Draco Malfoy's death was not a suicide."

Harry climbed a set of steps to the porch, slowing his pace as he neared the entrance. The group was silent as Harry approached the doors. Though faded, he could still make out a distinctive branding on the wood. A shield was marked with a large "M" and surrounded by a pair of serpentine dragons.

He drew his wand and twirled it, feeling for any tension. Though he doubted that any of the wards were still active, it wouldn't do to take any chances. He gave his wand a flick and, satisfied, nodded his head. The door was cold to his touch, and surprisingly heavy. Harry leaned into it and heaved it open. A gust of cold air from within hit him. He took a breath, wrapping his cloak more tightly around himself. Crossing the threshold, he entered Malfoy Manor, the others following close behind him.

He looked forward, straining to take in his surroundings. The entry hall stretched out far to his left, before coming to an end at another set of double doors. It was darker inside than Harry had expected. He walked toward the front wall, examining a window. It was thoroughly covered with grime, keeping out most of the natural light. Candles sitting on the windowsills remained alit, but only just, their glow casting shadows across the room.

The doors at the end of the hall opened with a creak and clattered shut.

Footfalls echoed through the hall. He pointed his wand at the noise, and leaned forward, resting his weight on the balls of his feet. With his left hand, he motioned to his team. Lisa drew her wand and crept across the hall, stepping into an alcove in the back wall.

"Harry Potter." It was a woman's voice. She stepped into a candle's glow as she approached him. "I'm glad you came."

Harry's eyes focused on her as she grew near, and he lowered his wand. Black hair fell past her shoulders, bangs coming up just short of her blue eyes. She wore a black robe that hugged her figure. "You shouldn't be here, Miss Greengrass."

She smiled at him, flashing her teeth. "Why ever not? This was to be my home, after all."

Astoria's shadow danced in the flickering candlelight. Harry looked up at the elevated ceiling, waving his wand. A pair of golden chandeliers came to life, illuminating the entryway. He looked past Astoria, down the hall. The wooden floors were covered with Turkish carpet, the panelled walls dotted with countless portraits of blond-haired, grey-eyed men. "As I understand it, your intended didn't leave a will."

Her eyes locked onto his. "You understand correctly. Your godson's grandmother seems to be the most likely candidate for the inheritance, yes?"

Harry nodded. "The Ministry'll leave it open for a year, of course. It's always possible that someone will be able to prove a closer relation to Malfoy."

"That doesn't seem very likely, does it?" Astoria asked.

"Andromeda's his aunt, and we don't know of anyone closer than that. But it wouldn't be too surprising if Lucius had a bastard child or two." He shrugged. "I figured you'd be upset over losing out on the inheritance."

She waved it off. "The money's gone, and I'm not too keen on living here anyway, believe it or not."

Harry took a closer look around the entry hall, noting the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and dust piling up on the floor. "What are you doing here, then?"

"Daddy figured you'd need someone to show you around. He told me to give you the ten sickle tour."

Harry chuckled. "Why does Elias have such an interest in this?"

"He vouched for Draco at the trials and a suicide could be seen as an admission of guilt." Astoria sighed. "But beyond that, Daddy was always rather fond of Draco."

Harry scratched his chin. "Miss Greengrass, look… I know you don't want to believe Draco killed himself, but that's where the facts point."

She was silent for a long moment, as her eyes scanned over Harry, as if appraising him. She motioned for Harry to follow her further down the hall, away from his team. "I trust Daddy told you what you have at stake here?"

Harry laughed, walking a step behind her. "Your father's a politician. He never says anything outright."

"You want to be Head Auror, right?" Harry arched an eyebrow, and she continued. "You know that'll never happen without help. I saw your personnel file, you see—the mental evaluation from after … well, you know."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You read my file?"

"Cracked in the head, isn't that what they called you? A broken man with a broken mind?"

Harry's muscles tightened and his voice softened. "You had no right-"

"I'm sorry." Lines formed on her forehead, and Harry noted that she did look apologetic. "But I had to find out some way to approach you about this. This has to be done right, and you're the best."

Harry detected a note of pleading in her voice. He sighed. "Are you blackmailing me, Miss Greengrass?"

"No!" Her eyes widened. "I'm offering to help you! Gawain is ready to retire, and Daddy's willing to nominate you for the position. He can even seal the record before you go before the Wizengamot for confirmation. Just help me here. Please."

Harry paused, considering her offer. He nodded. "I'll try, ma'am, but the evidence seems clear-"

"My fiancé did not kill himself, Mr. Potter." She raised her voice for the first time, her eyes boring into his.

Nonplussed, he asked, "Then who did?"

Astoria said nothing for a moment, and her voice was soft when she spoke again. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Swallowing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not a who, Harry, it's a what."

"I'm not quite certain what you mean."

"There's something here, inside these walls. I don't know what, exactly, but Malfoys tend not to die natural deaths."

"What're you saying?" Harry asked. "The place is haunted?"

"No, no. At least…" Astoria paused, as if searching for the right words. "Not exactly. I mean, it's not haunted the same way the Shrieking Shack and Hogwarts are haunted."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What are you saying?"

"I don't really know how to explain it," she said, shaking her head. "The Baron, Nearly Headless Nick, all the Hogwarts ghosts, they're benign—basically powerless. Even Peeves can't be any worse than a minor inconvenience. Here… It's different."

She swallowed.

"Whatever is in this house, it's malignant."

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_A/N: And here we are, at the start of another story. I haven't seen any haunted house stories in the fandom, and I figured it was about time somebody wrote one. Let me know what you think._


	2. Walking the Halls

AN: Thanks again to BarneyXII for all his help with this fic. He has been an excellent sounding board and Beta. If you're in the mood for something a bit more lighthearted after reading this, or if you just want to read a good Quidditch fic, go check out his _A Game of Style and Brutality_. And, as always, thanks to the fine folks over at DLP, particularly Sesc. You should give his _Unatoned _a try, if you haven't already.

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"Malignant," Harry deadpanned. "So you expect me to believe what, exactly? That there are monsters hiding under the beds?"

Astoria laughed. "No, not as such."

Harry turned away from her for a moment, looking back at his team. Lisa had not moved from her spot against the back wall, her wand dutifully trained on Astoria. Harry waved his hand downward, and Lisa lowered the wand, but never took her eyes off the intruder. Harry asked, "What is it, then?"

"I haven't a clue." Astoria shook her head. "Aren't you Aurors supposed to figure out these kinds of things?"

Harry stared at her, rubbing his chin. "All right, then. Let's get on with it."

"You're ready for the tour, then?" she asked.

"No time like the present." He walked toward his team, and Astoria fell in step behind him.

"All right, everyone, we're about to get started. Miss Greengrass has agreed to show us around this hovel. Harper, Boot, be on the lookout for anything out of place. Liggins, Collison, you two just do whatever the hell it is that you Unspeakables do."

"Aye aye, Top," Harper said with a salute.

Harry cracked a smile. "Miss Greengrass, if you would."

She stepped forward, to the front of the group. "All right, everyone, follow me. And if you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them."

Astoria started down the hallway and the others fell in line behind her. Lisa rushed forward, past Boot and Harper. She walked at Harry's side.

"Miss Greengrass," Lisa began. "How old is this place?"

"Just shy of five hundred years, generally. Some parts are older than others."

"I figured it'd be older than that, actually," Lisa said, "given how far back the Malfoys could trace their line."

"They were around for so long, a lot of people forget that the Malfoy line actually started in France," Astoria explained. "Gaius Malfoy moved the family to England in the fifteenth century. That's his portrait, up there."

Astoria pointed toward the rear wall. Two curving sets of stone steps converged from the left and right, straightening out before reaching the first story. A half wall formed where the two staircases became one. Centered on that wall hung a picture, much larger than all the others lining the hallway, framed in gold. The figure in the center kept his blond hair tied back, behind his head. He held a yew wand at his side. Emblazoned on the chest of his black robe was the letter M, surrounded by a pair of serpentine dragons. A pair of cold, grey eyes stared out surveying the hallway before him.

"Why did he decide to come to England?" Lisa asked. "As I understand it, the old families didn't often up and move."

Astoria stopped at the double doors she had entered the hall through.

"It's difficult to imagine it after seeing him like that," Astoria said, pointing again at the portrait, "but Gaius was once a boy with a chip on his shoulder. He was the younger son, you see. So while his brother was brought up as the heir to the family estate, Gaius was groomed to be an officer in King Charles's army. But his ambitions ran higher than that."

"What did he do?" Liggins asked.

"Well, he was a bit more, ah..." She paused, a smile growing on her face. "Rebellious than your average teenager. He took a commission in the army, like his father wanted, but not in Charles's army. Henry the Fifth took him on as a captain."

"He fought against France?" Lisa asked.

Astoria laughed. "He was much more than a common soldier. He made a brilliant commander, one of Henry's favorites. But yes, he certainly did fight against the French. If the legend is to be believed, he personally killed his father and brother at Agincourt. True or not, they certainly did die, or else Gaius wouldn't have been able to claim the inheritance."

A moment of silence passed, before Astoria spoke again. "Shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned, pulling the doors open. They stepped into a circular room. The outside wall was more window than wood. Had the glass been clean, it would have afforded an excellent view of the grounds. Brown leather club chairs, thoroughly coated in dust, faced the windows. The carpet was a deep red, inlaid with tan swirls, surrounded by blue borders. The colors faded near to the windows, washed almost white.

"The reception area," Astoria said.

They walked through the room and into a hallway on the other side.

"The ground floor lavatories," Astoria said, her arms outstretched. "Ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left."

They continued down the hallway, to the end of the west wing. Darkness engulfed the last room. Astoria waved her wand, and a chandelier overhead flashed to life. There were no windows in this room, Harry noted. Paintings covered what seemed like every available inch.

"The gallery," Astoria said, her eyes scanning the paintings that lined the walls. "The Malfoys have always appreciated the arts."

Harry stepped into the room, his eyes landing on a block of granite on the center of the floor. It had been sculpted into a sharp-toothed, bearded man with curved horns emerging from his head.

"It's a Michelangelo," Astoria said. "His first sculpture. Gaius was very lucky to ... ah, acquire it."

"It's-" Harry hesitated for a second. "Nice, I suppose."

Astoria laughed. "Quite."

They lingered for a bit, Harry giving his team a moment to appreciate the artwork, before turning back.

"France won the Hundred Years War if I remember my history correctly," Collison said, as they walked past the lavatories. "Did Gaius defect after the war was over?"

Astoria shook her head. "Gaius was a good officer, but he was never one for fighting to the last man. Henry died in 1422, and Gaius saw that the tide was turning. He was transferred, allegedly on Henry's last orders, to his son's private guard."

"Allegedly?" Lisa asked. They passed through the double doors and back into the entrance hallway, continuing forward.

"Indeed," Astoria said, with a smile. "Henry the Sixth was very young when his father died, barely nine. And Gaius took the opportunity to ingratiate himself to the boy king and his court."

On the other side of the hallway, they entered a room that smelled heavily of mildew. It was a small room, with bookshelves on every wall. The books were old, heavy and bound in leather, crammed tight on the shelves.

"This is the ground floor library," Astoria said. "It's a nice selection, but the more ... sensitive books are all on the first floor."

"Two libraries?" Harper muttered. "Rich bastards."

The next room was long and rectangular with a refectory table that would seat at least thirty. A silver candelabra rested at the center of the table, just below the crystal chandelier that dangled low from the ceiling. The chair at the head of the table was high-backed, with gold inlays.

"Hard to imagine three people taking lunch in here," Boot said.

"Well, this is the formal dining room," Astoria said. "There's another on the first floor, identical to this one, but scaled down."

Astoria led them through the dining room and into another hallway. She turned a bronze handle, pulling open a heavy wooden door. "The drawing room."

Harry recognized the wide room with the dark purple walls immediately. He swallowed audibly. As he crossed the threshold, he felt his skin crawl. He looked up, and saw empty, bronze mountings attached to the ceiling. A small hole had been burned in the grey carpet. The air felt heavy against his chest.

Without waiting for Astoria, Harry walked the length of the room and opened the door to a steep, stone staircase. He descended it, pulling open another door at the bottom.

"_Lumos_," he muttered. The room was small, with concrete slabs for walls and a dirt floor. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes scanning the ground. He crouched, picked up an iron nail from the floor, and examined it in the light from his wand. With a sardonic chuckle, he dropped the nail in his pocket.

Light footfalls sounded through the room, and a soft hand clasped around his own. "Harry? Are you all right?"

He said nothing for a long moment, collecting his thoughts.

"Yeah, thanks Lisa. Just bad memories, I guess," he said. "I've been here before, you know."

She squeezed his hand. "Yeah, I know."

Harry pulled away from her as the rest of the group joined them in the cellar.

"It would seem," Astoria said, casting a concerned look at Harry, "that Auror Potter has found the cellar-used primarily for housing prisoners."

An awkward silence hung in the air, as everyone considered the implications.

"Astoria," Lisa said, nodding toward Harry, "I think we'd best get on with the tour."

"Yes," she said. "Of course. If you'll follow me."

They retreated up the steps and through the drawing room, and to the end of the wing.

The room they entered was made entirely of glass, thousands and thousands of panes of it, curved, and sloping up into a dome over their heads. Hundreds of dead plants covered the floor, their brown leaves littering the ground. In the center of the room was a rosebush, its sharp thorns slowly falling, as the plant withered and struggled to stay upright.

"This is the conservatory. I don't think anyone's tended it since Narcissa was killed," Astoria said. She let them look around a bit before continuing. "Well, let's get back to the entrance hall. We should head up to the first floor."

They turned back.

"I never knew the Malfoys to associate with Muggles, royal or otherwise," Harry said. "I take it Gaius's alliance with the king didn't last?"

"Gaius was the last to do any business with the Muggles," Astoria said. "He was also the one to isolate the family."

"What happened?" Lisa asked.

"In his writings, Gaius blamed 'Edward the Usurper.' He spent years guarding Henry and his family, you see, and in that time, they became quite close. He may have even considered them friends," she said.

Back in the entryway, Astoria led the group to the double stairway in the rear. It was made entirely of marble. They began climbing.

"When the House of York led a coup, Gaius fought for his friend, the king. But in the end, it was for nothing. Edward deposed Henry, and had him killed."

"So that's when he decided to cut ties with the Muggle world?" Lisa asked.

Astoria nodded. "He brought his wife here, warded it to hell, and never looked back."

The great staircase opened into a ballroom. It was enormous. By Harry's estimation, it took up nearly an entire wing. The arched ceiling was a mosaic of blues and golds. It could have been supported only by magic, looming high over the stained wood floors. Absent were the columns that should have been needed to keep the floor and ceiling separate.

Dozens of windows, covered with red, velvet curtains, lined the outside wall. Harry drew one of the curtains back. The glass was black with grime. "_Scourgify_."

The lower pane shone as the charm cleaned away years of filth. Darkness had fallen on the grounds, and Harry could see the moon, full on the horizon.

"This is where the Malfoys hosted their parties," Astoria said. "A Malfoy family ball was the hottest ticket in Britain. Everybody who was anybody was expected to make an appearance."

"Can't say I've ever heard of a Malfoy family ball," Boot said.

"No," Astoria said, "You wouldn't have. There hasn't been one in at least a hundred and fifty years. The last one didn't end well, you see."

"What happened?" Lisa asked.

"A duel," she said. "The Prophet had been writing some ... ah, unflattering stories about Samuel Montague for months. Old Sam was a well-off business owner, so he was invited. As was the editor of the Prophet. All the couples were dancing, and they bumped in to each other. It escalated from there."

"Which one of 'em got offed?" asked Harper.

"Neither, actually," Astoria said. "Octavius Malfoy tried to break it up-said he wouldn't have it in his house-and he was hit with a stray curse. Died right here on the dance floor."

"Damn," said Boot.

"Indeed," Astoria said. "Come on, we should get on with the tour."

They exited the ballroom, into the west wing. The hallway they entered was pitch black, seemingly blocking all outside light. They lit their wands.

Astoria showed them the family library she had mentioned earlier, and a fully stocked bar, before stopping inside the study.

The floor was dark wood, covered with a blood red carpet. A mahogany desk sat near the back wall, taking up most of the room. Mounted on the wall behind the desk was a head that looked like a cross between a human and a lion.

"That's a manticore head," Liggins said, staring up at it. "Who managed to kill that thing?"

"Draco's grandfather, Abraxas. He was quite proud of it," Astoria said. She sighed. "He was killed in this room."

"Killed?" Harry asked. He scratched his chin. "Abraxas died of dragon pox."

"Ah, that was the story, wasn't it?"

"So that's not what happened?" Lisa asked.

"Dragon pox doesn't generally tear out a man's throat," she said.

Astoria led them from the study, and back through the ballroom. In the other wing, she showed them to the smaller dining room, where the family took most of their meals, and the cigar room, a cramped, bitter-smelling place, stained brown by smoke.

"There's not much to see upstairs," Astoria said, "but I want to show you Draco's bedroom."

They started walking, back through the manor, to the grand staircase.

"When you said that Gaius brought his wife here, was it to this house?" Lisa asked.

"Yes and no," Astoria said. "The Earl of Wiltshire, Gaius's acquaintance through Henry, ceded him this land. Not long after that, the King was dead, the Earl too, for that matter, and Gaius had gone into hiding here. He had _a_ house built, part of this house, in fact, but nothing extravagant. When his grandson commissioned the manor, he decided to have it built around the old house."

"Which parts of the manor are from the original house?" Harry asked.

"The entrance hall and part of the ballroom," Astoria said.

The second story was decorated in lighter colors, somewhat less imposing than the lower floors. It consisted of one long hallway, stretching from one side of the manor to the other. The walls were lined with doors that they passed by, Astoria leading the way, her pace slowing as they neared the end.

"This is it," she said, her voice shaking for the first time. "This is where I found him."

Harry nodded, stepping forward to open the door.

"Go on ahead," she said. "I'll uh ... I'll stay out here."

The walls were white sheet rock, with a single window overlooking the rear of the property. This window was cleaner, free of the grime that obscured those on the lower floors. Through it, he saw a body of water, either a lake or a pond, glistening in the moonlight. A four poster bed with green and silver hangings sat to the other side.

An odor that Harry knew all too well pervaded the room, the overpowering smell of decay. Harry pulled his robes up, covering his nose.

A white, silken bed sheet dangled from the ceiling, seemingly suspended by a sticking charm. A jagged cut ran along the bottom of the sheet. Harry's eyes scanned the room for a moment, then he stepped back out, into the hallway.

"Miss Greengrass," he said. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Astoria, how are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Being up here, though, it's a bit overwhelming."

"Yeah." Harry bit his lip. "I understand."

"I don't really know of anything else to show you," she said.

"What about the tower?" Harry asked. "The one out back."

She shook her head. "I don't know how to access it. I once asked Draco to take me up there, and he didn't know, either. Said that no one had been up there in at least a hundred years."

Nodding, Harry glanced down at his watch. "Then I suppose it's about time we call it a night."

"Of course," she said. Harry noticed that she was biting her lip. "You'll be coming back, won't you?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. He had yet to see anything that warranted further investigation. Astoria looked up at him with wide eyes, lines forming on her forehead. He sighed. "Yeah. We'll give it another day."

She exhaled, smiling brightly. "I'll make sure to tell Daddy that you're helping us."

He nodded at her, and turned to face his team. "Okay, you lot, I know that most of you have been at it since early this morning."

Harper laughed. "Too right, Top."

"Let's break for the evening," Harry said. He waited for the murmur of assent to die down. "Lead the way, Miss Greengrass."

They made their way through the ballroom, down the staircase, and back to the entrance hall. The chandeliers overhead burned brightly, hundreds of independent flames dancing merrily, staving off the darkness.

"Can we apparate out from here, Astoria?" Lisa asked.

"The anti-apparition field is a bit finicky. Abraxas was the last one to set it, and that was at least twenty years ago. Lucius should have taken the time to repair all the spellwork, but I doubt he knew how. For all his pride, he was never half the wizard Abraxas was." She glanced up at a row of portraits hanging from the wall, finding Lucius and Narcissa, unmoving oil on canvas, surrounded by a gilded frame. She looked away. "Anyway, the ward doesn't usually work, and thankfully it's lost its teeth."

"Its teeth?" asked Boot.

"Old Abraxas was a right bastard, and a deft hand at the Dark Arts. Grindelwald's right hand, if the rumors are to be believed. The field he cast was just the standard charm, or at least that's what it appeared to be. But there was another layer to it."

"Layered wards?" Liggins asked. "It's a tough bit of magic to get a spell to work on top of another in a defense scheme. What did the second layer do?"

"Well, the first one was standard, you see. No one in and no one out. But it was designed to give way if someone pressed the issue. That's when Abraxas's speciality would come into play. If you forced your way through the anti-apparition field, the second layer would take a pound of flesh. Or several pounds."

Liggins whistled appreciatively. "Forced splinching."

"Right in one," Astoria said. "It was something the old man picked up from Grindelwald himself, a dark spell, so-"

"No reattachment," Harry finished.

"Exactly. So they'd lose something, maybe a foot, maybe an arm, or perhaps even something vital, and they'd get dumped in the cellar. As far as I know, no one ever got out of there alive."

Harry chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "I know of a few people who made it out."

Astoria looked to her side, her eyes meeting his. "True enough. As clever as Abraxas was, it never occurred to him that a house elf might lead a jailbreak."

"Funny how most people overlook them."

"I suppose." She shrugged. "I recommend that we go past the gates before apparating. We could probably manage it from here, but there's no reason to test it."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Everybody, listen up. We'll apparate from outside the gates, as Miss Greengrass suggested, and meet back here tomorrow at-" He looked back down at his watch. "Oh nine hundred."

Harry walked to the front doors and twisted the knob. He gave it a sharp pull, but the door didn't budge. Craning his neck, he faced Astoria.

"Well, that sometimes happens," she said. "Just put your back in to it."

Chuckling, he drew his wand. Harry gave the door a tap, and it sprang open, the wrought-iron hinges creaking.

The team retraced their earlier path away from the manor, minding each step in the darkness.

"Say, Astoria, whatever happened to Gaius?" Lisa asked.

"That's the really strange part. No one knows. One moment he was here, and the next-" Astoria snapped her fingers. "The next, he was gone. His servant saw him wandering the upper floor. He rounded a corner, and when the servant followed him ... there was no one there. The man was questioned under Veritaserum, and he didn't know anything more."

"They never found him?" Harry asked.

Astoria just shook her head.

As they crossed the property line, Harry twirled his wand, closing the gate with a slam.

"Dismissed," he said. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

His team members nodded, and began to disperse. A series of sharp cracks later, and Harry and Lisa were the only ones remaining.

"Harry." Lisa's voice was soft. She took his hand in hers. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course. Right as rain." He said it quickly, and Lisa frowned.

"You know that I'm here for you," she said, "whenever you decide you want to talk about it."

The corners of his mouth upturned slightly, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know."

She sighed. "See you tomorrow, Harry."

She pulled away and turned. And Harry was alone.

"Goodbye, Lisa."

Harry spared Malfoy Manor one last glance. The full moon rested high overhead, bathing the white stone in yellow light. The manor almost shone, standing in stark contrast to the surrounding woods. Harry's eyes stopped on a ballroom window. The velvet curtain was pulled back, away from the glass. It fluttered closed. He blinked and the curtain was still. Shaking his head, Harry spun, and he was gone.

He reappeared with a pop, his feet hitting the ground at the foot of his porch. A fluorescent light hung from the dark wood of the wall, its pale glow fighting outward, illuminating a sphere that extended just past the steps, before giving way entirely to the darkness. A half dozen moths circled the light, their wings flapping erratically as they fought to draw ever closer. Their bodies collided with the glass that encased the heated filament, and they bounced back, continuing on their course.

Harry climbed the steps, the wood creaking beneath him. He waved his wand, killing the porch light, then touched it to the doorknob, muttering under his breath. He rotated his wrist counterclockwise until the metal glowed a bright white, and he turned it, pulling the door open.

It was pitch black as he stepped across the threshold, save for the answering machine's blinking red light. Hermione had insisted that he get a telephone upon graduation from Hogwarts, but he still wasn't quite sure how to work the damned thing. He moved forward with quick strides, despite the darkness, not bothering with the lights, instead carrying his wand ahead of him like a torch.

He sniffed. The unmistakable, sour smell of spoiled food assaulted his nostrils. With a sigh, he headed for the stairs. He'd deal with the dishes later.

The stairs groaned as he climbed them. When Harry reached the landing and turned, he slowed his pace. As he cleared the final step and reached the first story, he stopped. He turned, his hand closing around a doorknob.

He shivered as his fingers clasped the cold metal. He turned the knob slowly, biting his lip as his hand moved. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the stained wood. For a moment, he simply stood there, the half-turned doorknob in his hand. Exhaling, he released it and stepped away from the door, continuing down the hallway.

He entered the furthest room, throwing off his robes as he moved. They landed on a pile at the foot of the bed. It was a small bed-no larger than the one in Dudley's second room. A small bed for a small room. On the corner table rested a bottle of Ogden's Finest. Harry grabbed it and pressed the bottle to his lips. The firewhiskey burned his throat as he swallowed, the familiar heat eventually settling in his stomach. With a sigh, he sat the bottle down and collapsed onto the bed.

He lay there, above the covers, his eyes open. With a flick of his wand, the radio in the corner came to life. Through it all, he had never learned to sleep through the silence. Louis Armstrong's gravelly voice came through the tiny speakers clearly.

_I see skies of blue, and clouds of white,_

_The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night._

_And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._

What a wonderful fucking world, indeed.


	3. I've Got Something

A/N: Once again, thanks to BarneyXII for his help with this chapter. It's considerably more legible for his efforts.

* * *

Harry shifted on the bed, rolling to his right, and settling on his back. He yawned and lifted his arms, stretching. The sheets were cool and smooth against his skin. He sighed contentedly. Somewhere outside, a nightingale sang, its dulcet tones greeting the coming day. The radio had gone oddly silent.

A bright light that could come only from the early morning sun filtered through his eyelids.

Hold on.

That wasn't right.

A chill ran down his spine. Harry's room had one window, only one. It was small, with thin strips of wood separating the panes of glass, and covered with thick drapes.

It faced the west.

His eyes shot open. This window, opening to the east, overlooked a grove of trees. Though he could not see the ground from his bed, Harry knew there would be a picnic table nestled between a pair of oaks. In the corner sat a chest of drawers, its top covered with photographs and bottles of expensive perfumes, everything coated with a heavy layer of dust.

Harry focused on one picture in particular, of a man and a woman, their hands interwoven, matching bands of gold wrapped around their fingers. She wore a white dress, with a veil pulled back behind her head, her auburn hair spilling down past her cheeks. Her teeth shone white as she smiled. The man drew her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips against her knuckles. The woman laughed and leaned into him.

The smell of jasmine, and something else, hit his nostrils.

The mattress moved beneath him, as something shifted to his left. He drew a short, shallow breath through his nose, and craned his neck.

"Ginny." It came out as a whisper. He shook his head, his eyes widening.

"Hello, _darling_," she purred. Her voice was sultry, seductive as she drew out the words.

Her skin was dark, almost black, and peeling, stretched thin over her frame. Through a gash in her throat, he could see the white of her spine. Hidden under the fragrant jasmine was the stench of decay.

Harry jumped from the bed, pulling a short wand from a holster on his ankle. His mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. "But ... no-"

"Have you missed me?" Her red hair fanned out around her face, her teeth shining white against her skin. She sat up.

His hand shaking, Harry pointed the wand at her chest.

"Perhaps not?" She stood. A green night dress hung loosely from her frame. "I've seen you with her, Harry, your partner-the way she looks at you. Such a pretty little thing."

She licked her lips.

"Tell me, love-" She smiled. "Have you fucked her yet?"

Harry's breaths were short and ragged. Tears tracked down his cheeks. He slammed his eyes closed and swallowed, wand stretched out in front of him.

Something blared, and Harry's eyes shot open again.

He was lying in his bed, in his own room this time. A film of cold sweat covered his body. The room was dark, a nearly purple color, as the first hints of light sneaked through the window. He reached to his side and turned off the alarm clock.

Breathing heavily, Harry rested his head against the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling. The radio in the corner played a saxophone piece that he didn't recognize. For a moment, he just lay there, listening to the music as he caught his breath. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and silenced the radio with a wave.

His knees cracked as he rose to his feet. He lifted his arms above his head, exhaling as he stretched out his muscles. He yawned.

He picked up his robes from the day before, and lifted them to his nose. Shaking his head, he threw them back on the pile, and retrieved a fresh pair from his dresser.

He walked across the hall, rotating his head, cracking his neck. The tile of the bathroom floor was cool beneath his feet. His shower lasted longer than was strictly necessary, as he allowed the water to run over his skin.

Hair still damp, he stepped back into the hallway, the steam following him through the open door. He made his way down the hall, walking quickly as he neared the other end. His eyes avoided the far door as he reached the stairs, and hurried to the ground floor.

He walked into the kitchen, and spotted the _Prophet _sitting on his table, where the new edition appeared every morning.

He sniffed, and turned toward the sink. A pile of dishes and cutlery stretched almost to its rim. Harry twirled his wand. The air became noticeably fresher, but the stench did not disappear completely. He scratched his chin.

The answering machine's flashing red light caught his eye. He pressed the play button.

There was a brief moment of silence as the tape started turning.

"Are you concerned about your credit?" The voice was almost mechanical, and Harry thought it belonged to a machine, rather than a man. He tuned it out, and started a pot of coffee.

He made toast, and found a jar of strawberry jam in the refrigerator.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table, sipping from his mug. He picked up the _Prophet _and unfolded it. On the front page, he saw a picture of a harried-looking Ministry official, leaning down and trying to hide his face. Harry scanned the headlines.

**Long Week for Obliviators Finally Over.**

**Celestina Warbeck Announces Farewell Tour.**

He turned the page. A story near the bottom of page three caught his eye.

**Aurors to Investigate Malfoy Death.**

_Minister for Magic Elias Greengrass announced yesterday evening that the DMLE plans to launch a probe into Draco Malfoy's September 13th death. The proposed investigation may come as a surprise to many, after initial reports indicated that Mr. Malfoy died as a result of self-inflicted injuries. The investigation will be headed by none other than Auror Commander Harry Potter, whom many consider the most likely successor to Head Auror Gawain Robards._

_Of Mr. Malfoy's death, Minister Greengrass said, "There's a lot more to this one than meets the eye, and we will not rest until we get to the bottom of it. We've got our very best Aurors on the case."_

_Minister Greengrass's connection to the deceased is well-known. His youngest daughter was engaged to be married to Mr. Malfoy, before his five-year stint in Azkaban for Willful Association with a Subversive Element (RS 516.360). The comparatively light sentence came largely as a result of the Minister exerting his influence on the Wizengamot. _

_Immediately after Mr. Malfoy's trial, Wizengamot member Wilfred North said, "I reckon he's guilty of a lot more'n just association. 'S why I voted for the life sentence. I don't rightly care what the Minister thinks; we ought not to let any Death Eater off so light. Guess ol' Greengrass was able to convince the rest of 'em, though."_

_Following his release from prison two weeks ago, Mr. Malfoy returned to his ancestral home in southern Wiltshire. The _Prophet _attempted on several occasions to reach him, but..._

Harry skimmed the rest of the article, without really reading it; he was already familiar with the facts of the case. He dropped the first section of the paper to the floor and turned to the Quidditch scores.

_Puddlemere (4-5): 170_

_Ballycastle (6-2): 280_

_Catch: Henderson (6)_

"Damn," he muttered. "Baddeley couldn't catch the snitch if it was tied to his wrist."

Something on the answering machine caught his attention.

"Harry?" He recognized the voice immediately, though it was softer than normal, more hesitant. Beneath it, the machine whirred softly, the tape unwinding inside its case. "It's Hermione."

Harry sat the paper down, taking a sip from his mug. He focused his eyes on the machine, and stuffed the rest of the slice of toast into his mouth.

"We're throwing Molly a party next Friday for her sixtieth. She'd like for you to be there. Asks about you all the time... I know we haven't talked much since Ginny ... well-" Hermione exhaled. Harry could almost see her biting her lip. "We miss you, Harry. Rosie's getting so big, now. She turned three, just last month. It would mean a lot to her if you'd come and see her. She misses her godfather. We all miss you."

Her voice trailed off, and the line went dead. The room was silent, save for the soft buzz of the machine. Harry sighed.

He sat his mug on the table, and rose to his feet. With one last glance back at the pile of dishes, he walked through the front door, and pulled it closed behind him, touching his wand to the knob.

He spun, and disappeared with a crack, reappearing in Wiltshire, below a pair of iron gates, just down the lane from Malfoy Manor. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, mixed with the darkness of the retreating night. It created a mosaic of dark blues, along with the orange, climbing over the trees and approaching the Manor.

The walkway below the gates rounded out, and Harry's eyes scanned the area. Only one other person had arrived.

"All right, Lisa?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just didn't sleep well last night."

He might've guessed as much if he'd looked at her more closely. She appeared a little more haggard than usual, less put together. There was a bit of a frizz to her blonde hair, a hint of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes.

She was still beautiful, though, with her sharp, blue eyes, and high cheek bones. Her neck was slender and elegant. He could still remember the dress she'd worn to the Ministry ball last year-red, with a slit down the side that ran halfway up her thigh. The neckline had plunged downward, drawing his eye from here alabaster throat to her-

_Have you fucked her yet?_

He started, his eyes bulging, as the air was expelled from his lungs.

"Harry? Harry!" He felt Lisa's hand in his and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide with concern. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He swallowed heavily. "Yeah, just-"

_Crack_.

He spun, and his wand was in his hand, its tip glowing red.

"Woah." It was Harper, and he had one hand lifted up above his head. The other held a danish to his mouth. "Easy there, Top."

Harry lowered his wand, breathing heavily.

"Bit twitchy this morning, eh?" Harper asked.

Harry nodded tightly. "Didn't sleep well."

Harper let out a bark-like laugh. "Then maybe you should've had us come in at a decent hour. It's too damn early."

A series of pops indicated the arrival of Boot and the Unspeakables. Harry faced his team.

"All right, everyone," he said, "We've got a lot of ground to cover, so let's get started."

There was a popping sound, and the air in front of Harry was displaced and pushed outward, nearly knocking him over. And there was Astoria.

"You weren't planning on starting without me, were you?" She had a smile on her face. Her robes were heavier than the pair she'd worn the day before, more practical, but they didn't hug her form quite as nicely.

"Miss Greengrass," Harry said.

"Auror Potter." She smiled at him. "Daddy asked me to bring you this."

She held a wand. Hawthorn, ten inches, with a unicorn hair. Harry recognized that wand. He'd turned it over to the Aurors years ago, when he was still a student at the end of the Second War.

"I'm sure you've read the report, but he figured you'd like to cast all the spells for yourself."

"Is your father familiar with the chain of custody?" Harry asked. He conjured a clear, plastic bag, and levitated the wand into it. "If this ever goes to trial..."

"It wasn't in the evidence lockup," she said. "They released it for the burial. It's a ... ah, family tradition."

"All right, then." Harry pocketed the wand. "Will that be all, Miss Greengrass?"

"Daddy thought I should accompany you," she said. "Make sure you don't miss anything."

The implication was clear. The Minister would be watching him very closely.

"Naturally." Harry waved his wand, and the heavy, iron gates swung open. "We were just about to get started."

They made their way up the lane more quickly than they had the day before. Harry took longer strides, stepping more confidently on the broken stones. They stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the front doors.

"Boot, Harper, I want you to scan every possible point of entry. Make sure no one forced their way in."

Harper scanned the windows, counting them off on his fingers. He shook his head. "Merlin, Top, that'll take all day."

Harry shrugged. "Greengrass authorized the OT."

"And you heard what she said yesterday," Harper said, pointing at Astoria. "The wards don't work more often than not. Someone could have just apparated in."

Harry looked back at him. "Miss Greengrass, you go with Harper and Boot. Make sure they don't ... miss anything. Liggins, Collison, you're with Lisa and me. We'll see what we can find in the bedroom."

The front doors opened at a twirl of Harry's wand, and they stepped across the threshold, into the darkened Manor.

The chandeliers overhead sprang to life as they entered the front hall.

"That's ... odd," Boot said.

Harry eyed them suspiciously.

"Not really." It was Liggins who spoke. "A lot of these old enchantments feed on ambient magic. Just by being here, we're bringing them back to life."

The group split up, and Harry led Lisa and the Unspeakables up the second floor. They entered Malfoy's bedroom.

Harry snapped his wand at the light fixture on the ceiling. It bathed the room in fluorescent light.

The walls weren't quite as white as they'd looked in the dark. They were more of a light green.

Lisa walked to the window, and started with a series of charms, making sure that it hadn't been forced open. Harry's eyes immediately found the sheet hanging from the ceiling.

He withdrew Malfoy's wand, and ripped the tip free of the plastic bag.

"_Prior Incantato_."

A wisp of smoke poured from the wand's tip, shifting and taking shape. It narrowed and lengthened, one end rounding out, and the other flattening. A knot formed just above the bottom, as part of the smoke dissipated to form a noose. It was a bed sheet, the bottom swaying ever so slightly, while the top remained stock still.

He looked from it to the sheet dangling from the ceiling. They were nearly identical, except that the bottom of the real sheet had been cut away, probably by Astoria. Just above where the noose should have formed was a jagged, diagonal slice.

"_Prior Incantato_."

More smoke emerged from the wand, but this time, it was red. It swirled and coalesced, taking the form of a sphere, no bigger than a man's fist.

"Lisa," Harry called out for her, his eyes not leaving the ghost of the spell that hung in the air. "Lisa, come over here."

"What is it, Harry? Have you got something?" She stood beside him.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes still on the wisp of red smoke. "I've got something."

"What is it?" Lisa asked.

"Look at this," he said. He pointed at it. "The second to last spell on the wand."

"A blasting hex," she said. "It was in the report."

"What call would Malfoy have had for a blasting hex?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "Jeffries figured it had been cast earlier. You know, in the war. There's a whole string of combat spells on there."

But that didn't work. Couldn't have worked. Malfoy hadn't had his wand at the end of the war. "Jeffries is an idiot. Look at that blasting hex, Lisa. See the edges? They're too distinct, too sharp."

She walked closer, eying the spell closely. She stared at it for more than a minute, then nodded her head. "Yeah, I see it. If this was five years old..."

"You'd barely be able to see anything," he finished.

"I don't know how Jeffries could have missed that," she said.

"_Prior Incantato_." Harry waved Malfoy's wand again.

An orange curse appeared.

"_Prior Incantato_."

A stunner.

"_Prior Incantato_."

Grey, a hex that he didn't recognize.

"They're all fresh," he said. "Probably cast just before he tied that noose."

"What do you think it means?" Lisa asked.

Harry said nothing for a long moment. He scratched his chin. "He was trying to defend himself."


End file.
